


The Sadness In The Joy

by flawedamythyst



Series: The Truth In The Lie [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-10
Updated: 2012-03-10
Packaged: 2017-11-01 17:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after The Lie In The Lie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sadness In The Joy

They'd been together nine years when Sam's father died. He had a sudden stroke that put him in the hospital, attached to a hundred machines that made soft beeping noises, for two days before he finally passed away. Sam sat in his room the whole time, not speaking and barely moving, and Dean sat next to him, one hand clutching tightly to Sam's thigh as if he could somehow hold Sam together through this with just that touch.

Sam was quiet and stoic in the days between his father's death and his funeral. Dean remembered how he had been after Jess's death and kept the familiar routines of their lives running as best he could, hoping that he'd know what to do when Sam was ready to let it out.

His own father had retired and handed the garage over to Dean completely six months before. Dean had been working long hours ever since, worried that he'd let his father down and somehow destroy the business he'd spent his whole life building up, but he figured he could trust Ned to lock up for a few days so that he could come home a bit earlier and spend more time with Sam.

At the funeral, Sam sat with dry eyes and clenched fists. He read out a eulogy that summarised the key facts of his father's life without touching on who he had been at all in a steady voice that gave nothing away. He paused when he'd finished and stared hard at his notes for a moment before saying, hoarsely, “Dad and I didn't always see eye-to-eye on...a lot of things. I spent a lot of time angry at him.” He paused, and Dean could see his jaw clenching. He held himself from just jumping up and going to Sam, because he was pretty sure that wasn't the done thing at funerals, but everything in him just wanted to go and take some of Sam's grief from him. 

“I never doubted that he wanted the best for me, though,” Sam continued eventually, “and I was always able to go to him for help if I needed it.” He dropped his head down and took a deep breath. “He was a good man,” he finished, then picked up his notes and walked back down to sit next to Dean. His hand was fisted around the paper so tightly that it was crumpling up. Dean put his hand over Sam's, trying to soothe the tension out of it. Sam glanced at him briefly, and let a deep breath out, relaxing his fingers.

After that, Sam seemed like he was dealing with it better, and Dean was naive enough to believe it. He went back to his regular hours at work the first time that Sam smiled his old grin again, the one that didn't seem pasted on over a stiff mask of grief. He completely forgot the other lesson that he should have learnt from Jess's death: just because Sam seemed fine, didn't mean he wasn't going to just crack one day and take off.

****

It was six weeks later when Dean came home to find the apartment dark and empty, with no sign that Sam had even come home from work. He tried hard not to panic – after all, Sam occasionally worked late (except he always phoned Dean if he was going to, because he knew how Dean worried) or he might have stopped off at the store on the way home (except they'd gone shopping the day before, and the place was full of food) or he...Dean's imagination faltered, and all he could picture was Sam lying unconscious in a car wreck, or shot dead by some drugged-up punk, or lying still and cold in a morgue. He grabbed the phone and did what he'd done the first time this had happened, and called his mom.

“Have you seen Sam?” he asked without wasting time on greetings.

“Dean?” she said, sounding confused. “Uh, no, not since Sunday, sweetie. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I'm sure it's nothing,” said Dean, flicking through the phone book to find the number of the nearest hospital.

“Have you tried Bobby?” she asked.

“No,” said Dean, shutting the phone book. “I'll do that now. Bye, mom.”

“Let me know if you find him,” she said, and Dean hung up without replying.

“Well, he ain't here, son,” said Bobby slowly, and Dean felt his heart sink down through his shoes. “But I think I saw his car pass a couple of hours ago, heading out towards the woods. I figured you boys were having one of your 'picnics.'” The tone of his voice made it clear that he knew exactly what they got up to when they went out into the woods, but Dean couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed right now.

“Thanks, Bobby,” he said, and grabbed his car keys, hoping that Sam would be at their usual place, and not anywhere else in the miles of woodland beyond Bobby's place.

****

Sam was lying under a tree in their favourite clearing, arms tucked tightly around his chest and his eyes shut. Dean knew he must have heard him approaching, but he didn't move when Dean stood over him, not even to open his eyes.

Dean sat down next to him with a sigh. “You can't do that to me, Sammy,” he said. “My heart's not up to it.”

“Sorry,” said Sam emotionlessly, as if Dean hadn't given him the perfect set-up for an 'old man' joke, or to bitch about Dean's eating habits.

Dean reached out for his shoulder, holding it tightly to reassure himself that Sam was really there. His shirt was as cold as the evening air, and Dean wondered just how long Sam had been lying in that position. “You'll catch your death,” he said, then realised he sounded exactly like his mother.

Sam didn't reply, but he did open his eyes to look at Dean. It was hard to tell in the twilight, but they looked as blank as his face.

“I'm sorry, Sam,” said Dean, squeezing his shoulder. “I should have realised.”

Sam let out a quiet sigh and shut his eyes again. Dean watched him for a moment, trying to think of some words to say that weren't completely useless, but nothing came to mind. He stroked his hand through Sam's hair instead, trying to comfort him with touch. It might have been his imagination, but it looked like Sam relaxed a tiny bit, and that was enough for Dean to keep doing it.

“He never liked this, you know,” said Sam abruptly, after a few minutes silence. “Me and you – he did a good job hiding it, but I could tell.”

“I know,” said Dean quietly. “He faked it pretty hard, though. For you.”

Sam's jaw tightened. “Yeah,” he said. “I just...I kept hoping that one day he'd just get over it.” He snorted. “Guess he was hoping the same thing about me.”

“Sam,” said Dean, feeling helpless and hating it. “I'm sorry.”

“Yeah,” said Sam quietly, and they stayed in silence for few more minutes, Dean's hand still tangled in Sam's hair.

Eventually, Dean sighed and tugged gently on one of Sam's curls. “Come on,” he said. “Let's go home. Maybe pick up take-out on the way.”

“Yeah,” said Sam in a long exhale, and finally sat up. Dean stood, then stuck out a hand to help Sam up. Sam's knees cracked as he stood, and Dean internally winced at the sign that they were both getting older, but said nothing.

“Hey,” he said as they headed back to the car. “You must still have a couple days of compassionate leave left, right? How about you take one tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” said Sam, pushing his hands deep into his pockets.

“I can take the day off as well,” said Dean, his brain racing through the work schedule for the next day. He'd probably have to call Ned in the morning and go through a few things – remind him to order that part for Mr Hayward's Jeep, emphasize the importance of getting Miss Clark's Toyota finished by 3 – but it should be okay to leave him in charge, just for one day.

Sam shot him a sharp look. “Really?” he asked, and for the first time Dean heard an emotion in his voice.

“Yeah,” said Dean. “No point in being the boss if I can't skip out to spend the day in bed with my boyfriend, right?” He knocked his shoulder against Sam's. 

Sam just stared at him for a moment, then looked back round at the path. “Yeah,” he said.

****

They got a pizza on the way home, then settled down on the sofa with it and a couple of beers while Dean flicked through the channels until he found a baseball game. By the ninth innings, Sam was slumped against his side and Dean had one arm tucked around him, only half paying attention to the game. He was thinking about taking Sam into the bedroom and laying him out naked on their bed, licking him all over until he was certain that Sam had warmed up from hanging out in the woods, then maybe fucking him, slow and deep, until he'd forgotten all about his grief and could only focus on Dean.

He was thinking about the tiny sigh that Sam made when Dean was settled all the way inside him, the little exhale of 'now everything is exactly how it should be' that he probably thought Dean didn't hear, when Sam shifted slightly and spoke.

“You really going to take tomorrow off?” he asked.

“Yeah,” replied Dean. “Said so, didn't I?”

“Huh,” said Sam, and then was silent for a few moments. “You sure you won't need to go in?”

Dean frowned and turned slightly so he could look at Sam's face. “Yeah, I'm sure,” he said. “What's this about?”

Sam shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “You're always there,” he said. “Since your dad retired.” His voice dropped. “I hardly see you any more,” he added, so quietly that Dean had to strain to hear the words.

Dean thought back over the last six months since his dad had handed the deeds over.”I don't want to mess it up,” he said.

“I know,” said Sam. “Just...your dad managed to run it and still live the rest of his life.” He shrugged, the movement pushing against Dean's chest. “I wondered if you were maybe bored of hanging out with me. If my dad was right about this,” he added in a hoarse whisper.

Dean gripped hard at his shoulder. “Never,” he said fiercely. He pulled Sam around until they were face-to-face. “I don't...Sam, I couldn't. Ever.” He found the words sticking in his throat, just like they always did when he tried to tell Sam just how much he meant to him, and he made a frustrated noise. “It's you and me,” he said firmly. “Forever. We're going to grow old together, and still be freaking the kids out by being all over each other, like my mom and dad do.”

He kissed Sam, trying to show just how much he meant it with his mouth, and when he pulled back, Sam was smiling at him, looking properly happy for the first time since his Dad died. Or, if Dean let himself think about it, since even a few months before that.

“Okay,” he said, and pressed his mouth back against Dean's. Dean started to think about taking this into the bedroom and showing Sam exactly how he felt the best way he knew how – with hands and mouth and cock - or maybe just doing it here. They might be getting older, but they weren't past couch-sex yet.

“Wait,” said Sam, “Freaking the kids out?”

“Other people's kids,” clarified Dean, shutting away the disappointment that there'd never be any of their own, with Sam's dimples and stupid floppy hair, who Dean could teach how to replace a carburettor. He'd got good at shutting that away in the last few years, and he mentally cursed himself for letting it slip out in front of Sam.

“Oh,” said Sam. He wriggled closer to Dean, trying to slide into his lap, which really wasn't big enough for all of him. “Cos, you know, we could have our own to freak out. There are ways.” Dean looked at him hard, trying to see what he was really saying. Sam shrugged. “I mean, if you wanted.”

“Do you want?” asked Dean.

There was a brief moment of stand-off, both of them waiting for the other to speak, and then Sam let out a shaky laugh. “I think I do,” he said.

Dean grinned. “Okay then,” he said, and kissed him again, pulling him closer.

“Great,” said Sam a little breathlessly, and he pulled away, off Dean's lap, although he kept hold of Dean's wrist. “Let's go have sex.”

Dean stood and followed him to the bedroom, hands on his waist, unable to let go. “You know that's not going to lead to kids, right?” he asked, pressing a kiss against the back of Sam's neck as he paused to open the bedroom door.

“Idiot,” said Sam, turning around to kiss Dean, and then hooking two fingers into Dean's waistband to tug him into the bedroom. “I'll do some research tomorrow. Right now, I really want to fuck you.”

Dean let himself be dragged into the bedroom, perfectly happy to go along with that plan.


End file.
